


forget (and forgive)

by epitome



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 13:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epitome/pseuds/epitome
Summary: "But it hurts. I want to help, but it's all tangled with the love. I can't tug it loose without tearing it.""Take that too, Cole. All of it."In one of his rare moments of clarity, Cullen has Cole make her forget.





	forget (and forgive)

"But it hurts. I want to help, but it's all tangled with the love. I can't tug it loose without tearing it."

"Take that too, Cole. All of it."

"But that will hurt her-"

"Not as much as this does."

* * *

When she wakes, reality tugs at her consciousness gently. The Fade usually doesn't keep a hold of her so strongly, but today she feels drowsy even after she rinses her face with cold, clear water from the basin. Her eyes are puffy, the lids swollen, but she's no idea what could have caused it. Maybe some sort of allergy, or she was caught in an odd position in the night. She shakes her head and moves to prepare breakfast.

When she's scarfed down a sweetroll and an apple, she dresses herself - tucks the fabric of her shirtsleeve up so it doesn't hang loosely where her arm isn't there to fill it - and moves to the low stone building next door to tend to her charges.

Twenty Templars are in residence, in various stages of functionality. The best of them are well enough to do honest work in the fields outside to distract themselves from the siren call of lyrium. The worst are confined to their beds, lost to withdrawal symptoms or to the secrets of their own addled minds. Most fall somewhere in the middle, better on some days and worse on others. She hums to herself as a storm rolls in across the hills, the steady pitter patter of rain drumming against the roof. It helps some of them, having a noise to focus on.

She soothes a few of the more weary Templars, changing out the washcloths on one's forehead, patting another's hand as he cries out. One of the cook's helpers will see to their breakfast shortly, but there's one she sees to herself. She fills a tray with a bowl of porridge and some berries before proceeding into the back room, balancing it carefully against her hip with her good arm. She doesn't remember what had prompted this one to get his own room - the beds outside were all full, perhaps - but she's glad for the privacy. The nurses tend to stare at her when they come in to check on him and she is at his side, though they pretend not to.

He is more aware today, she notes. He's already sitting up in his bed, an early riser when the dreams don't keep him in their hold. She bids him a "good morning, ser" and sets the tray before him. She doesn't inquire about the haunted look in his eyes when he sees her - tells herself all Templars have that look in their withdrawal. The dependency on lyrium isn't only physical, after all; the ritual of it is just as binding.

He thanks her for the meal and eats quietly, hands stable enough this morning for him to feed himself, and she pretends to busy herself with tidying the room. He is handsome, this one, and she finds herself wanting to spend time with him, to learn about him, to ease his pain. But she could never force herself on a patient.

That doesn't stop her from imagining them together when the Fade claims her each night. Armor-clad, blanketed by a red surcoat with a fluff of fine, dark fur around his neck, hands placed firmly on the hilt of a sword, nearly at parade rest - quiet authority. In a simple tunic and trousers, settled comfortably in a chair, chessboard before him, making a move to ensure a checkmate. Or, she's ashamed to admit, naked, curly blonde hair tousled, drawing shapes on her skin with his fingers, his tongue; large calloused hands on her hips, pulling her to him as she presses a kiss to the scar on his lip; her own name whispered in her ear, cut off by a soft groan--

She's pulled from her reverie as he calls again. "My lady."

Immediately she flushes and snaps back to attention.

"Yes, ser?"

Though a smile quirks at the edge of his lips, likely from her inattention, his eyes still look sad. "I thank you for your care, my lady, but one of the others is calling for you."

He twists the band on his left hand, a nervous habit he's developed, and once again she feels shame wash over her. Though this Templar was left in her care, he has someone to whom he is faithful. She should know better than to lust after a married man, and - she reminds herself yet again - one of her patients. She nods, leaves him with the meal, and resumes her duties in the main hall, doing her best to console the woman who had called out for her.

* * *

Finally alone in his room, Cullen sighs. He knows he's lost time, and the glimpses of clarity he gets between episodes don't get any easier. And seeing his love, not recognizing him, twists a knife in his heart even as he reassures himself that he made the right choice.

Cole appears at his side. He acknowledges the boy with a nod but doesn't speak. It's Cole, as usual, who pipes up first.

"The pillow is wet when she wakes and she doesn't know why. A familiar stranger. Her favorite, but guilty underneath; he is someone else's."

Cullen blanches visibly, despite his already wan complexion, and looks away.

"You said it would help her hurt, but she still hurts, underneath."

"It's for the best, Cole." His hands clench into fists. "I don't have much time left. She deserves to move on."

Cole looks doubtful but does not protest. When Cullen looks back, the boy-spirit is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been sitting on this for awhile and recently rediscovered it to share.
> 
> I have some ideas on continuing it, but The Fade and another work I have up my sleeve take priority.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
